Auberon said, when his father turned to face him, a degree of arrogance back, ‘I have the originals. I will ruin you without a second thought and just as you warned your daughter of the consequences of her actions, I now point out yours.’
‘What do you want?’ his father said, planting his feet wide apart, his hands behind his back. Auberon had to give him credit for his courage.
‘Easterleigh Hall and its estate and farms, Easton and Hawton pits, and my mother’s money which is in trust until I am twenty-five. I am twenty-eight. Veronica requires her money, in trust until her marriage. She is married. Miss Wainton left us the money that my mother left her. We require that money. This is to happen within the next two days. Is that agreeable to you?’
There was silence except for the ticking of the French clock on the mantelpiece. It would chime seven in five minutes. His father cleared his throat and nodded, saying, ‘You will then hand me the originals.’
‘Just two more things,’ Auberon said, watching as his father threw the photographs on to the fire. They flared, curled, and died. It was like the war all over again. ‘The first is that I know you have recruited an agent to pursue Millie Forbes for the return of your silver and harass the Forbes family. This ceases from today.’
His father took a step forward. ‘Outrageous, that little bitch took some of your stepmother’s ancestral silver, and don’t think the Forbes are uninvolved. That boy has worked against me in the mine, stirring up the unions, and as for that kitchen slut . . .’
Auberon held up his hand. ‘Jack protested on behalf of the workers and that was before the war. He has no involvement in this whatsoever. Evie . . . Well, it stops, do you understand? They both deserve peace, the whole family do.’ At last his father nodded.
Auberon breathed heavily, because he had thought the Forbes’ demand might just push his father beyond the bounds of common sense. ‘The second is Miss Wainton. What happened, the truth now? You dismissed her, but did she jump? Did she really?’ He took a step closer to his father, his swagger stick in his hand. His father watched that, and only that.
‘It was an accident,’ he said. ‘She made me angry because she argued, for God’s sake. I walked from her on to the balcony and she came after me. I had made it quite clear I had finished, quite finished with the whole conversation. She pulled at my arm and I threw her off, and over she went. It was an accident.’ His eyes were as though glued to the swagger stick. It was then Auberon realised that his father was frightened. Perhaps he always had been. He thought of his grandfather, bluff, but with big hands and hard eyes, the man who had built the steelworks, the brickworks, the mines. He said, ‘Did Grandfather hit you, Father, as you hit me?’
His father dragged his eyes from the swagger stick, and nodded.
Auberon said, ‘Do you miss my mother?’
His father swallowed. ‘With all my heart. She was a good woman, not a lady like your stepmama, but a doctor’s daughter and a good woman. She made me a better man.’
Auberon knew a woman like that. He turned on his heel. His father called after him, ‘I’m sorry, Auberon. I’m sorry for it all.’
Auberon reached for the door. ‘So am I, Father, but you are quite safe as long as you keep your distance from us, and do nothing to harm us in any way. I have the papers safely where you will never find them. Two days, remember, by which time I will be home. Send a telegram to me at my club in Durham, with your lawyer’s confirmation.’
Auberon travelled to Durham, and waited. Once confirmation arrived he drove in his new car to Easterleigh Hall, having heard from Veronica by telegram that morning that flu had arrived in the shape of Roger. He had replied to say that he would be arriving at eleven o’clock. Would Evie produce coffee, as there were things to discuss?
Chapter 17
Easterleigh Hall, a few days later
EVIE AND MRS Moore had cleared the end of the table nearest to the door, and Veronica and Richard sat there, watching the clock. Evie concentrated on preparing luncheon at the other end because hungry stomachs waited for no man, while Mrs Moore collected herbs from the store. They were down to half the patients now, but the flu was spreading so Matron and Sister Newsome feared that the numbers would rise again, as the villagers had need of the hospital. Evie wondered how Roger was today. It seemed, with this flu, that you died quickly, or you lived. Though, true to the pattern of his life, Roger wasn’t doing either, he was just comatose, poor bugger. His mother was dead, it seemed, and that was why he’d come to Easterleigh. The Hall was like a flame that drew moths, and her heart ached for the future. What was to become of all these souls?
Just this morning a demobbed soldier and ex-patient, Sid Yoland, had arrived on the kitchen doorstep. The length of his thigh bone had shortened since amputation but the medical board would not remeasure it, and his original pension was still being paid though he deserved more. Richard was receiving letters almost daily, still, asking for help. Veronica called him the pensioners’ friend, and he was happy with the title. Now that the war had ended, several such pensioners had found their way back to Easterleigh for advice.
Evie had given Sid hot cocoa because in her opinion that sorted a world of problems, and hoofed Mrs Moore off her stool nearest to the ranges. Si, who had been reading the Daily Sketch at the table and getting in everyone’s way, had raised his eyebrows. ‘Cocoa,’ he had scoffed. ‘A beer, more like.’
Sid, who had been a private slogging along the wide plank road in Ypres when he’d been hurt, had shaken his head, ducking to sip the hot brew held between white frozen hands. ‘By, lass, this is the best.’
Annie had notified Ron, as Richard was checking the accounts, and he’d collected Sid and taken him through to his small office, calling back, ‘Chocolate for visitors only, is it then, Evie? Bad show, that.’
She’d grinned, but Simon hadn’t. ‘It’s all right for those who sat out the war here, I suppose. It’s given them time to get cheeky.’
Evie had reminded him that Old Stan wanted to show him the rose Simon had planted for Bernie, last time he was here, and had some hyacinths for his mam, if he cared to get them to her. He’d left Mr Harvey’s newspaper on the table, hugged Evie, and said into her hair, ‘I’ll cycle the hyacinths down to Mam. She’ll be right pleased.’
Evie had been relieved to see him gone, and then felt guilty because of it. She would make time for him this afternoon.
At eleven sharp, the sound of a car driving into the garage yard was heard in the kitchen. Did Aub come bearing news of their eviction? Could they hope for anything different? What the hell was going on? Veronica gripped her husband’s hand. Richard seemed to know something, but not enough to tell them anything, or so he’d just said.
‘Then tell us what do you know,’ his wife yelled, just as Auberon walked into the kitchen. He had said to prepare coffee for eleven, and eleven it was. Simon had remarked before he left to meet Old Stan, ‘Taking orders from the boss again, are you, Evie? They don’t have that sort of thing in America.’ She was sick to death of hearing about America and his friend Den, and had snapped, ‘Just go and see Old Stan, he needs you.’
Auberon brought in the cold, in a great wave. He shut the door, and removed his driving cap. His mufti coat was grey and well tailored. ‘The Tourer is quite the thing, but damned cold,’ he told them. He unwrapped his scarf and rammed it into his cap, just in time, for Veronica was hurling herself into his arms. He hugged her, looking over her shoulder to Evie. He grinned, and Evie smiled, feeling a great warmth. Richard was on his feet, pumping Auberon’s hand while Veronica still clung to him. ‘Just in time for Christmas, how wonderful, and to have you safe, and what on earth have you been up to?’
Evie bustled to the range, removing the coffee pot from the brick warmer, and filling the cups ready on the tray. Auberon pulled clear of his sister, going to Evie. ‘Are you well, Evie? Let me take this.’ He picked up the tray and moved to the other end of the table, where the biscuits she had baked after br
eakfast waited on one of the best china plates. ‘You’ve made enough for Mrs Moore, I hope?’
Evie laughed. ‘I’d be in trouble if I hadn’t.’
He placed the tray on the table as Veronica sat on her stool, and Richard on his, like schoolchildren waiting for their lessons, Evie thought. Auberon stood, pulling off his gloves and pushing them into his pocket, looking at her. Had his eyes always been so blue? Surely his hair was fairer, and it still flopped over his left eye. He was so thin, drawn, scarred, tired. He spoke, looking only at her, and she remembered that moment in the camp hospital, the feeling of his arms around her, the sense that she was about to learn something. It had brought back the sea, the day she almost drowned. ‘Simon is home safely? Jack, Mart and Charlie too?’
The memory was being chased away. She said, ‘Thanks to you. They start their first shift back tomorrow. Charlie is helping Simon and Old Stan at the moment. Poor Roger is ill . . .’
‘For heaven’s sake, darling Aub, sit down and tell why you’ve called us here.’ Veronica was tapping the table with impatience.
He gestured to the stool to his right. ‘Please sit, Evie. This is your domain, and you’re Commandant.’ He turned as the kitchen door opened. ‘And here’s my old friend Mrs Moore, soon to be Mrs Harvey, I dare say.’
Mrs Moore dropped her herbs, blushed to the roots of her white hair, and flapped her hands at him as he picked up the rosemary and sage. ‘Oh, Mr Auberon, I can’t believe you’re here at last.’
‘Please sit,’ he said and did the same, settling himself on the stool at the head of the table. ‘Easterleigh is safe, and ours. All we need to do is to keep it solvent. I am to run the mines, Father keeps all his other concerns. We have the estate and Home Farm, and the tenant farmers are now our responsibility.’
Solvent, that word rang in the air, along with the burbling of the kettle. Evie sat on her hands as the others looked at one another. ‘Solvent? Presumably the rents from the farms and the income from the pits will cover that?’ Richard pondered.
‘Hardly,’ Auberon replied, his eyes on Evie. He called to her, as she started to respond to the kettle which was simmering, but soon to boil. ‘Leave it for a moment, Evie, because Jack tells me you have a first-class idea. You wrote him about it.’ His smile was gentle. He had a scar across his eyebrow; how close it had come to his eye, Evie thought. Yes, she had an idea but now the moment was here she could hardly speak.
Auberon took a biscuit. ‘Come on, dig in, everyone. Let’s listen.’
Veronica was looking at her, eagerness in her face. ‘Evie, what have you up your sleeve? Come on, out with it.’ Mrs Moore nudged her. ‘Come on, Evie, or I will. It’s a perfect idea. Harry and Ron both think so, so does your Jack.’
Veronica looked taken aback. ‘Oh, they know? Why haven’t you shared it with us?’
Auberon sighed. ‘Do be quiet, Ver, let the girl speak.’ He passed the biscuits to Mrs Moore, who took one, checking the clock as she did so. ‘Quickly now, we must get on.’
Evie drew a deep breath. ‘My dream has been to run a hotel and Easterleigh Hall will be perfect, and what have we been doing for the last four years if not making things better for people, changing beds, providing food? It would only be a short step to changing our role, once we have restored the house, and after the last patient has gone. Harry said that many of them would return as guests; what’s more, they would spread the word, and their families already love it and have often said that they would like to be a patient here themselves. You’ve heard them, Ver?’
There was a pause. Veronica looked at Richard, and gripped his hand. Auberon was grinning at them all. Veronica said, ‘It’s perfect, quite perfect. Of course, of course. Perfect.’
It was as though a dam had broken and words rushed around the kitchen, with Auberon pacing, and Veronica at his side. Richard joined them. Evie and Mrs Moore looked at the clock. Finally Evie shouted through her laughter, ‘Enough. We have luncheon to prepare, why not take yourselves into the garage yard to see the Tourer, and talk it through even further.’ Mrs Moore was dabbing her face with her handkerchief, then she flapped it at them. ‘Yes, we need to feed the five thousand.’
Veronica spun round. ‘Evie, you are a diamond among women, isn’t she, Aub?’ She gave him no time to reply but ran on, ‘Please, you, and Mrs Moore, must know that you will be the most important of our staff, there will always be a job for you both, and we really need your cooking.’
Evie’s laughter died. She felt as though the water of the dam had drenched and frozen her. So. So. Peace was here. Mrs Moore touched her arm, her face also cold, disappointment in every pore of her skin. Veronica stood there, her hand on her brother’s arm, looking from Evie to Mrs Moore. ‘What? What have I said?’
Auberon had halted on his way to the door and he was watching Evie. Well, let him bloody watch. She drew herself up on to the balls of her feet, as Jack had always done before one of his bare-fist fights. She said, ‘I have money. Captain Neave left me some, as you well know, Lady Veronica. I will stay at Easterleigh Hall, but not as a servant, only as a partner.’ She swept her arm towards Mrs Moore. ‘Our days in that position were over at the start of this war, surely you can see that, all of you?’
She looked from Auberon, to Veronica, to Richard. They coloured, and avoided her eyes. Evie continued, ‘My cooking alone would make me worthy of a partnership, and Mrs Moore too. The downstairs staff have done just as much to make the hospital function as the medical staff, and they have learned that out there, in the big wide world, there are other forms of work. I know that now the war is ended the munitions factories will close, and men will want their jobs back, but men and women won’t be prepared to give up their freedom to be servants. If I stay I insist on a partnership. I insist that the staff are treated as staff, not servants. Surely if running this hospital has shown you anything it is that patients, or guests in this case, want the same faces around them. To that end you must encourage loyalty, give the staff some reason to stay. That means an annual share of the profits.’
They were all motionless, looking at the floor, apart from Auberon, who was staring at her, and listening closely. She gripped her hands into fists, knowing she might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. ‘Things shouldn’t go back to the way they were before the war, with the class division written in stone, and if they do, then I wish you well, but I will leave, and I daresay there’ll be a load of people along with me. Now, please, Mrs Moore and I have lunch to prepare, so leave the kitchen, Captain Auberon, Lady Veronica and Captain Williams.’
She turned her back on them, her mouth dry. She reached for the oven cloth and checked the state of the stuffed bullocks’ hearts. One day good food would be plentiful again, but not yet. She heard them leave, felt Mrs Moore’s hand on her shoulder, and only then did she smile, ruefully, and lay her head on Mrs Moore’s shoulder. ‘I thought better of them,’ she murmured.
Mrs Moore held her close, patting her. ‘They’re learning. Let’s see what happens, bonny lass. Remember that Mr Auberon has been through a great deal like everyone else, and from the look of him is bone bloody weary. He’s been running around like a blue-arsed fly just recently, and has achieved much. Trust him. I do, now.’
Luncheon was served. It was vegetable soup, removed by stuffed bullock’s heart, removed by rhubarb crumble with custard. The Bramptons ate in Lady Veronica’s suite, as Evie made herself call her mistress now. Were they complaining about the jumped-up cook, she wondered, as the kitchen staff ate with the off-duty nurses, VADs and orderlies in the servants’ hall.
In the afternoon Evie walked in the arboretum with Simon, who had returned in time for luncheon. He had come in the cart, his bicycle laid on top of the sea coal he and his father had collected, as Alec was on the back shift. He asked how the meeting had gone. She told him. There was silence. He held her hand lightly. ‘You’re right, you know. In America there aren’t servants, not like ours. There isn’t this hierarchy, you can make it good.�
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Evie sighed. ‘America? You and Den talked a lot then, in the camp? He’s the one whose da is something on Broadway?’
Simon kissed her hand, looking over it and laughing. ‘Not his da, his father, Evie. Not everyone is from a pit village.’
She wanted to slap him. Instead she said, ‘Well I am, and you are, or have you forgotten?’
‘I’d like to, because if we want to get on, we have to.’ Their pace had increased. She said, ‘But people coming to our hotel will want to hear you sing, and want to admire your garden, wherever it is. I spoke for you too this morning, bonny lad.’
Simon was looking at jackdaws high in the branches of the birch and sycamore. ‘I know you did, but . . .’ He stopped.
She didn’t want to know what he meant. She said, ‘I hope Jack and Grace have sorted themselves out. They’re made for one another.’
Simon kissed her hand again. ‘Like us, Evie. Just like us.’ He drew her to him and his kiss was hard, his hands on her body urgent, and slowly she felt herself respond. ‘It’s been such a long time,’ he murmured into her neck. ‘It’s so strange not to be fenced in, surrounded by guards shouting, with beds to make, lines to learn. I just can’t get used to it.’
She held him. ‘None of us can. Here, we still have a foot in the war with the convalescents arriving daily, but on the other hand, the guns have stopped. It’s as though we don’t know what to do any more.’
He held her shoulders, stood away and looked at her, really looked. ‘You do know, Evie. You always know what to do. Look how you set about them this morning. You’re like Jack, so certain, so strong. Some of us aren’t, you know. Some of us . . . Oh, I don’t know.’ He held her close again. She said into his shoulder, ‘I’m only certain about some things. Others I just don’t understand at all.’ She touched his hair, his lovely red hair which she had once loved, but about which she felt little, now.
Easterleigh Hall at War Page 28